Monday, July 17, 2006

Brutal Stupidity.

I learned something significant about myself watching Zinedine Zidane headbutt Marco Materazzi. Here is a captain of a football team, a seasoned vet, on the verge of winning the world championship, his final game ever, finding himself unable to resist the impulse to physically respond to a verbal barb thrown his way by one of the most consistent trash talkers in the game.

It’s trash talk. Zizou has been called everything in the book for decades. His action not only tarnished his reputation and caused global uproar, it may have cost France the championship. He should have thicker skin. A cooler head. However, he can’t fight his chromosomes. The old XY. The influx of testosterone. The amplification of stress, causing a thoughtless irrational flash of violence. This is who we are, gents. Deal with it.


What did I learn? That I'm a idiot. Okay, yes this is not exactly NEW news. However, the extra trouble I have at times is surely because I am a dude. And a troubled one at that. See, here's what happened. Candy and I were walking back to the car after the world cup victory and strolling past us where three beautiful, nubile girls smiling and animated. I belted out a "Forza Italia!" and one of them stopped, grabbed me by the ears and kissed me. I dipped her and kissed her back, almost out of instinct, discounting the act as part of an excited response to a feverish environment and ultimately sort of a funny joke-like jesture. Candy did not agree.

She didn't speak to me the whole car ride home. There was no physical contact that night.

In the morning, she turned on her blackberry for the first time since we landed. Most of the morning was spent reading emails. She did this inside. After failing to break through the wall of silence, I journeyed outside to read by the pool and there, to continue to work on frying myself beet red.

You see, it turns out this girl takes things seriously. At least some things. She has been called onto a case she's been waiting for, apparently. She has a car coming from Rome to pick her up this afternoon. She has to pack. She's had a blast but needs to go. I get a peck on the cheek. I am lost.

Like Zizou, I am a loser. I failed to reason. And I have no Golden Ball player trophy to show for it. I predict an evening filled with waterfalls of Scotch and self pity.

2 Comments:

Blogger JenJen said...

Quite an interesting blog. About a million miles away from my working-class-hero gig, but you'll have that.

When did socialists start wearing Prada? When did socialists start coming from Texas?

You're a hot mess. I'll be back.

1:37 PM  
Anonymous Brit said...

Perhaps what you failed to do is choose the right companion.

Thanks for your comment to my livejournal.

7:36 PM  

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home